Felicita
by smacky30
Summary: Sequel to Damage Control. Set after Demonology. Dave and Emily talk about the past and plan for the future.


Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: Many thanks to Mingsmommy and Losingntrnslatn for all their help and support.

The couches in the lobby of Emily's building are damned uncomfortable. Oh, they look good, all sleek and modern and low-slung with lots of metal and vibrant colors, but nobody should be forced to sit on them. Definitely not for over two hours; especially, when all he really wants is to be out doing something to find her and bring her home.

_You never should've let her walk away. _Dave berates himself. _You know she's too stubborn for her own good sometimes. And you knew she was hurting._

It's almost the end of hour three and the doorman is giving him the hairy eyeball. Dave is beginning to wonder if he really should go out and look for her. He can respect her need for some time alone, but it's snowing and she doesn't even have a scarf or a pair of gloves.

Standing, he begins to pace, his legs protesting gratefully at the change in position. He's well aware of the fact that she can take care of herself. He's seen the proof more often than he wants to think about. So he isn't necessarily worried about her physical well being. But this case hit her hard emotionally. She was too close, and she lost all objectivity. He needs to make sure she's going to be okay – if not today, then maybe tomorrow.

_Definitely one of the craziest cases I've ever seen. Hell, it might even make the next book._ But, honestly, before he can write about it, he'd needs to gain a little more objectivity himself. Emily was caught between her job and her desire to do right by an old friend. And the team she'd stood behind, the team she'd stood _for_ left her. He couldn't let her down. She'd backed him up before he realized he needed it and he owed her. Not that owing her a favor had one thing to do with him sticking his neck out. No, it went much deeper than that.

With his keys in hand, he's debating on leaving a note for her, when the door swishes open letting in a blast of frigid air and a damp, cold Emily. "Rossi?" She stares at him as if she isn't sure he's really there. "What are you doing here?"

Dropping his keys back in his pocket, Dave crosses the marble floor to stand in front of her. "Waiting for you." When she merely tilts her head and looks at him with eyes filled with so much pain his heart actually aches, he reaches out to brush her hair out of her face. "Let's go upstairs."

Without a word, she steps around him and leads the way to the elevator. They ride up in silence. He takes her key from her trembling hand, and slips it in the lock before pushing the door open for her.

"I don't know if I'm up for company." She stands just inside the door, her hands shoved in the pockets of her coat.

Dave closes and locks the door, then moves around and begins to unbutton her coat. "I'm not company." Helping her out of her coat, he raises an eyebrow in silent question. When she points to a door just under the stairs he nods and moves over to hang it in the closet. "Why don't you go get a shower? I'll make us some coffee."

Emily moves toward the kitchen. "You don't know where anything is. I'll start the coffee and…"

He takes her shoulders in his hands and turns her to face him. "Prentiss, you have about five cabinets in this whole place. I think I can work it out." Then he smiles down at her. "Go get a shower. It'll warm you up."

With a mute nod, she heads upstairs. He can hear her walking around overhead, a door closing, the sound of water running. And for the first time in a week, he starts to relax.

When she comes downstairs, he has the fireplace burning and the coffee made. He pours them each a cup, adding a little Irish just for good measure. "Whipped cream?" he asks, holding up a can he found in her refrigerator.

A tired grin flitters over her face. "Not tonight." She takes a sip and sighs. "Mmm. That's good. Thanks."

"It's what friends do." He shrugs. "You should eat. Want me to scramble some eggs?"

She nods and takes another sip out of the steaming mug. "Eggs are fine." Emily gives him the first real smile he's seen since this whole nightmare began. "You didn't have to come here, Rossi. I'm okay."

Pulling the carton of eggs, a pack of shredded cheese and some butter out of her fridge, he merely shakes his head. Then he busies himself with the food while Emily sits at the bar and watches him. He doesn't push her to talk. He's learned that she likes to keep things tucked away. He's also learned that she'll open up to him if he waits long enough. As a matter of fact, he's learned a lot of things about her since that night in Indianapolis. Apparently, that's what happens when you're falling in love.

They eat in silence, Emily pushing eggs around her plate, nibbling on a piece of toast and managing to eat less than half of what he prepared. But half isn't bad when he doesn't know if she's eaten anything since this whole thing started. The dark circles under her eyes are almost touching her cheekbones. Her face looks gaunt, haunted.

The first time Dave saw her, he couldn't quite believe she was with the BAU. In his day, the women who worked with the unit were women like…Erin Strauss. Hard and driven and just as ambitious as he was. _Very pretty_ was what ran through his mind. Then she wiped her hands on her dress and called him sir and he mentally kicked himself for even looking at her that way. She was what, ten or fifteen years younger than he was? And a colleague. No way was he going down that road again. But there were days he had a hard time keeping his eyes off her.

Now, he's in her house and she's wearing the world's ugliest flannel pajamas and her hair is up in some weird plastic clip and she looks so fragile that she might break if he touches her, and she's even more beautiful to him than she was that first day.

Rossi clears their plates, stacking them in the dishwasher. Pouring her another cup of coffee, he holds up the bottle of Bailey's. She nods and he adds a splash. Taking the cup from him, Emily moves over to the sofa and sinks into a corner. Tucking her legs under her, she cradles the cup in her hands. Rossi takes the other end, toeing off his shoes and propping his feet on the coffee table.

Silence stretches out between them. The comfortable silence of two people who don't feel the need to talk just for the sake of talking.

"Why do you do that thing with your toes?" Emily says at last.

She's staring bemusedly at his feet and he glances down, not sure what she's talking about. "What thing?"

"You wiggle your toes. Like this." She holds up a hand and wiggles her fingers wildly back and forth. "Well, not quite like that. But you get the idea."

Rossi laughs. "I don't know. Guess I never realized I was doing it."

Emily grins. "You did it that night in…" Her voice trails off and a blush colors her cheeks.

"Why didn't you mention it then?"

The blush deepens but she looks him in the eye. "I had other things on my mind."

"I haven't forgotten." He watches as her eyes widen just a little and her nostrils flare as she sucks in a surprised breath. And he feels his cock twitch just from the memory of her wrapped around him. It's been almost a year and still he knows just how she feels and smells and tastes.

"Is that why you're here?" She takes another sip of coffee. "A little comfort between friends?'

"We weren't friends then." He holds up a hand when she starts to protest. "Not then. But I like to think we are now."

She shrugs. "You didn't answer my question."

"I didn't come here to have sex with you, Emily." Dave watches the emotions play over her face. Lack of sleep, lack of food and two generous shots of Bailey's have all combined to lower her defenses and she's pretty much an open book and right now she looks more than a little hurt. "That doesn't mean I don't want to have sex with you. In fact, I've thought of it pretty much every day since Indy."

She snorts. "Come on, Rossi. I remember the rules. I think I held up my end of the deal pretty well."

He can actually hear the quaver in his voice when he says, "What if I didn't?"

Emily turns away first, taking a long drink of coffee, brushing those bangs out of her eyes. She's quiet. Not the comfortable quiet of a few minutes ago, but a tense silence that seems to vibrate off her body in waves. Maybe she did exactly as she promised. Maybe it was just one night. Maybe she isn't who he thinks she is. Suddenly, he finds he's questioning everything he feels for her.

Emily is staring into the fire. He watches her profile, noting the tightness of her jaw and the shimmer of tears in her eyes. Minutes pass and he's beginning to think he should leave and leave her to her demons.

When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet and distant. "Have you ever felt unlovable?" She turns then, her eyes blazing in her pale face, anger and sadness and betrayal screaming out at him.

Dave nods. "More times than I care to think about."

She stands, a fluid, graceful motion that some part of him appreciates. "No. You don't get it. I felt dirty and…and worthless. Not just in the eyes of that priest, but in the eyes of God." She's pacing now, clutching her cup as if it is her only lifeline. "I was sure people on the street could see it on me like a stain."

"You were _fifteen_." His anger is fierce and hot.

"I was old enough to know better!" Tears stream down her face and her voice drops to a whisper. "I was old enough to know I was killing my child."

She's sobbing now, great wracking sobs that shake her entire body. And he's never felt so helpless, so inadequate in his entire life. How can he comfort her when he can't begin to fathom her pain?

"And then you tell yourself there's time," she's talking through her tears but it hardly sounds like her voice there's so much regret and pain in there. "There's time for a baby and you'll be the best mother ever, because you've got to make up for what you did." She swipes at the tears. "Until you wake up one morning and you're almost forty and you realize that it's true."

Dave puts his cup on the coffee table and stands. "What's true?"

She looks at him and her lips tremble. "That you really are unlovable. And that you'll never have the one thing you want more than anything else."

He crosses the room and pries the mug from her hands. Placing it on the mantel, he wraps his arms around her. Her hands clutch at his waist and tears soak through his shirt. When she starts to shake, he just pulls her closer and kisses her hair.

Sliding his hands up and down her back, he soothes her the only way he knows how. "Shhhhhhh, Emily." Dave croons, even as tears sting his eyes. "I'm here. It's okay."

He isn't sure how long they stand there. And, in the grand scheme of things it doesn't really matter. What matters is the woman in his arms and his absolute inadequacy in helping her. When her sobs taper off to mere hiccups, he digs in his pocket and produces a handkerchief. But he doesn't let go of her. Just keeps touching his lips to her hair and rocking her back and forth like a child. Until he feels the press of her mouth on his throat.

Drawing back, he looks down into her tearstained face. "Emily?"

She doesn't say a word, just wraps one hand around the back of his neck and pulls his mouth down to hers. She's hungry and he can taste the desperation on her lips. And he knows exactly what this is. Affirmation. Dave knows the reasons behind it. He knows he should pull away and wait until she's not so emotionally raw, not so needy. But his body is a traitorous bastard and he's already pulling her closer and sucking her tongue into his mouth.

It's hot and sloppy and exactly what he wants. It's been a year since he's felt her skin, since he's felt anybody's skin against his and he wants desperately to touch her. So when she starts yanking at his shirt, trying to untuck it from his pants he doesn't even try to stop her. Instead he finds the bottom of that flannel shirt and runs his hands underneath it, gliding them over her back. And she moans, the sound vibrating against his tongue.

Her hands, soft and cool, are on his back, her short nails digging into his skin and the little sting of pain feels so right. He's missed this. But when those hands start tugging at his belt, he realizes they're standing in the middle of her living room.

Breaking the kiss, he rests his forehead against hers. His breathing is ragged and he doesn't recognize his own voice. "Not here." Because even though he isn't averse to finishing this on her sofa, he knows the bed will be a lot better for both of them.

Emily takes his hand and tugs him toward the stairs, but that's not enough contact for him. He pulls her back against him, his arms wrapping around her from behind and together they stumble across the room. He's kissing her neck and trying to follow her without stepping on her and it's slowing them down, but he loves the feel of her ass against his crotch and the way her breast fills his hand. Then he's pressing her against the wall at the foot of the stairs, grinding against her and she's pushing back. His vision grays around the edges from the sheer pleasure of having her like this.

"Dave," her voice burns through the haze in his brain, "upstairs."

They only stop once on the stairs and that's because Emily kisses him. And who is he to question that? So, he kisses her back and somehow her top is gone and so is that damned hair clip. Her hair spills over her shoulders like silk and he's standing two steps below looking up. She's like a goddess rising up in front of him. He's kissing and sucking her breasts hard enough to leave marks. And a little thrill of pride, of possession, runs through him at the thought of his mark against her pale skin.

Only Emily's brand of levelheadedness gets them back on track. She tugs his mouth away and looks him in the eye. "I need you to fuck me, Dave. Now."

There is no finesse. Emily saunters through the bedroom door, pushes off her pants and crawls, gloriously naked, into bed. For a moment, Dave simply stares at her. Her body is amazing. He's been with women of a lot of shapes and sizes, but not one could hold a candle to Emily. Then, with shaking hands, he's taking off his clothes. Dropping them in a pile, albeit a neat pile, he joins her.

To his credit, Dave tries to slow things down. But she won't have it. He strokes his hand over her stomach and she grabs it and pushes it between her legs.

"Dammit, Rossi." She grinds out as his palm settles over her and he slides a finger deep into her wet heat. "Don't…not tonight. Just…please."

Her voice is one step away from begging and while he can't deny that the thought of Emily Prentiss spread out beneath him begging him to fuck her is a turn on, it's the look in her eyes that has him giving in. Pulling his hand from her body, he wraps his arms around her and rolls until she is sprawled on top of him.

"Show me, Emily," he whispers against her cheek.

Emily pushes up, settling herself atop him. Then, rising up on her knees, she grasps his cock and sinks down on it in one steady movement. And, oh god, it's so good. So tight and hot and wet he forgets for a minute that she's using him for her own validation. Her hands are braced on his chest, and her fingertips are digging little holes into his flesh. He can tell by the way she bites her lip that it hurts. But she just keeps her eyes tightly closed and starts to move.

The pace she sets is frantic. She drives her hips up and down, back and forth; seeking her release like it will absolve her sins and set her free. With his hands on her hips, Dave simply goes along for the ride.

It isn't long before her thighs start to tremble, but she doesn't slow down. If anything she seems to pick up speed, driving them both as fast as she can toward the edge of reason. Rossi watches her, the play of emotions on her face, the way her stomach muscles tense and release as she moves, the single bead of sweat that trails between her breasts. The flush on her chest and throat, the way her nipples are drawn into hard, tight peaks tells him she's close. Very close.

Emily's head drops back and she lets out a low groan. Then she tightens around him, violent pulses of her muscles gripping and releasing around his cock. And he's there. Right there on the very edge of that cliff. Almost over. Until he hears the sob she can't choke back.

"Emily?!" He's trying to sit up and trying to pull her down and neither one is working very well so he grabs her by her arms. "Are you hurt? What's wrong?"

Tears leaking from her eyes, Emily just shakes her head. "It's nothing."

"You're crying. That's not nothing." Dave tugs at her arms. "Come on. Come down here."

Emily draws in a shuddering breath and slips off him to press herself along his side. Her tears are hot against his chest and he feels helpless and horny and angry and worried. There's a whole list of adjectives Rossi could use to describe himself at this moment.

As if she can read his mind, Emily swipes at her tears. "I'm sorry. Give me just a minute."

Adding confused to the list, he looks down at her and she's looking up and he reads the meaning in her eyes. "Hush." He presses her head back down against his shoulder. "That's not important right now. Why are you crying?"

He can feel her shrug and smiles because he knows just the expression that goes along with it. "I just needed…that. The release."

_Ah, endorphins. _Dave presses a grateful kiss to her hair. "Then I'm glad I could help."

"That's what friends are for. Right?"

The bitterness in her voice surprises him. Sliding down in the bed until they are face to face, he says, "Talk to me, Emily."

"There's nothing left to tell you." Her gaze darts away and he knows she's not telling the whole truth.

He touches her cheek, brushing his hand over the smooth skin in a gentle caress. "Who was he? Who hurt you?"

For a moment she simply stares at him. "Damnit, Rossi. Don't profile me." The words are there but there's no heat behind them. Instead, she gives him a sad smile. "You don't want to hear about this. It was so long ago and I'm so over it."

"Come on, Prentiss. You know about my dirty laundry." He tugs at a lock of her hair. "I want to know."

She shakes her head. "You are a crazy man." Heaving out a sigh, she says, "We went to college together."

Rossi nods as she tells him the story: first serious boyfriend, best friends, true love and all the usual catch phrases. Every word twists in his gut, because he knows what's coming, almost like he's stopped time and flipped to the end of the book right in the middle of the story.

Her voice trembles a little when she tells him what he already knows. "When I told him about the – abortion – he, um, he couldn't handle it. He didn't call me for days. Didn't go to classes. Then he sends me a note and tells me that he's searched his heart and he can't forgive me for what I'd done."

She attempts to smile. "If you want to run, now is a good time."

He wants to tell her that the only person who ever needed to forgive Emily Prentiss is Emily Prentiss. Instead, he takes her hand in his and threads their fingers together. "I'm not going anywhere. I've already told you, I'm all in."

Emily just shrugs. "What does that mean, exactly? All in?"

Rossi sucks in a deep breath. He should've known that Emily wouldn't stand for hiding it behind some odd statement that can be interpreted anyway she wants. But it's been a long time since he's said those words to anybody and even longer since he was unsure of the reaction he'd receive. Something close to terror grips him but he pushes past it and says, "It means I'm in love with you."

For a moment she simply stares at him, shock written all over her beautiful face. "Dave, after everything you've learned about me, how can you even say that?"

He tightens his grip on her hand when she tries to pull away. "Wait." Tugging her hand to his mouth, Dave brushes his lips over her soft skin. "I've been falling for you a little bit every day since you walked in that bar in Indy and rescued me from myself." Brushing his lips over hers, he takes a deep breath and carries on. "And nothing you've ever said or done has changed that, or ever will."

With a watery smile, she cups his cheek and runs her thumb over his cheek. There is still doubt lurking in her eyes, but she presses a little closer and brushes her lips over his. "You'd better be sure, Rossi. Because I love you, too, and there's no going back now."

"Already told you, I'm not going anywhere." Pushing up onto his elbow, Dave looks down at her and smiles. "I love you and I'm sticking around until you run me off." This time, when he kisses her, she tastes like happiness.


End file.
